Run: 2026-02-19-01KHT0021883T1BRP4T2K2T7CE

The sharp knock echoed through the narrow hallway, bouncing off the battered walls of Eva's flat. Aurora Carter, or Rory as everyone knew her, turned her head sharply from her cluttered desk. Her eyes, bright blue as a summer sky, narrowed slightly in suspicion. She wasn’t expecting anyone, and Eva was out on one of her mysterious errands. Ptolemy, the tabby cat, stretched lazily from his spot on the worn armchair, his ears twitching in annoyance at the disturbance. Rory pushed back her chair, the wooden legs scraping against the wooden floor. She crossed the room in a few quick strides, her heart beating just a tad bit faster with each step. When she unlocked the three deadbolts and swung the door open, she was met with a pair of eyes—one amber, the other black. Lucien Moreau stood there, his expression as unreadable as ever. "Lucien," she breathed, a mixture of surprise and something else—something electric—flickering in her voice. "Bonsoir, Aurora," he replied casually, but his eyes held an intensity that belied his nonchalance. "May I come in?" "Do I have a choice?" she muttered, stepping aside to let him in. He moved into the flat with the grace of a cat, his tailored charcoal suit whispering against itself with each movement. The faint scent of his cologne—something dark and woody—filled the room. Rory shut the door behind him, ignoring the part of her that wanted to lean into that scent. "What brings you here, Lucien?" She shook her head lightly, causing her straight black hair to fall around her face. "Eva mentioned some research you were both doing. Said you might need... assistance." Rory snorted. "Yeah, sounds like her. Always meddling." Lucien's lips twisted into a small smile. "And always right, non?" "Sit. Or don't," she snapped, moving past him to pick up a few stray scrolls from a nearby chair. She dumped them unceremoniously onto the cramped table and sank into her seat. "Thank you," Lucien said, lowering himself into the cleared chair. He set his ivory-handled cane beside him, the blade within hidden but ever present, a silent reminder of his dual nature. Rory pretended to be deeply absorbed in the notes splayed across the table. An awkward silence stretched between them. "Still up to your old tricks?" Rory finally asked, her voice softer than before. A low chuckle rumbled from Lucien's chest. "You know how it is. Information is valuable, in every realm." She shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips despite herself. "And yet here you are, in the middle of my mess." "Mess is an understatement, cherie," Lucien's eyes scanned the room filled with books and scrolls. "But I have missed your... chaotic charm." Rory’s head snapped up, eyes narrowing again. "That supposed to be a compliment?" "Take it as you will." She sighed, leaning back in her chair, her fingers tracing the small crescent-shaped scar on her left wrist absentmindedly. It was an old habit, a comfort when her mind wandered into vulnerable territory. "What do you want, Lucien?" she asked finally. "Eva was... persuasive. But to be frank, Aurora, it wasn't just her." Rory cocked an eyebrow. "Oh?" "I needed to see you. Simple as that." The words settled heavily between them. Rory kept her gaze on her fingers, the room seemed to shrink around them. "You know, you can't just show up like this after everything," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Perhaps not. But I had to try." Rory shook her head. "You left." Lucien's jaw tightened, his heterochromatic eyes darkening. "I had no choice." "There's always a choice." "Not in my world," he replied sharply, cutting through the tension. "Your world?" she scoffed, standing and pacing the small room. "Please, Lucien. Don't give me that. I get it. The supernatural underworld calls. Got to keep up appearances and all that." "It's more than that, and you know it." "Do I?" Rory turned to face him, hands on her hips. "If that's true, you sure as hell didn't explain it." Lucien's eyes softened, and for a moment, he looked almost human, the weight of his heritage lifting slightly. "Aurora, I wanted to. God knows I wanted to." Rory pressed her lips together, folding her arms across her chest. "You know what the worst part is?" Lucien remained silent, waiting. "I was starting to trust you." That struck a chord. He flinched, the mask slipping further. "And I broke it. I know." "Then why come back now?" Tears of frustration brimmed in her eyes. "Because I can't fix the past. But I can be here now." Rory sucked in a breath, their closeness, both physically and emotionally, becoming almost unbearable in the tiny flat. She turned away. "Fine. Stay. We'll deal with this, together. But don't think for one second I'm going to forget." Lucien stood, crossing the small space to stand behind her. "I'd never ask you to." The warmth of his presence, the gentleness in his usually steely voice, it nearly undid her. Nearly. "Let's get to work," she said instead, moving back to the table. "We have a lot to decipher." "Indeed," Lucien replied, the faint smile returning to his lips. And as they settled into the rhythm of collaboration, the weight of unspoken words hung in the air, heavier than the scrolls stacked around them. The past couldn’t be undone, but in the flicker of candlelight and the scratch of pen on paper, there was a glimmer of possibility for something different.